To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Jan. 14.
We have passed a mighty stupid day; Sir George is civil, attentive,
and dull; Emily pensive, thoughtful, and silent; and my little self as
peevish as an old maid: nobody comes near us, not even your brother,
because we are supposed to be settling preliminaries; for you must
know Sir George has graciously condescended to change his mind, and
will marry her, if she pleases, without waiting for his mother's
letter, which resolution he has communicated to twenty people at Quebec
in his way hither; he is really extremely obliging. I suppose the
Melmoths have spirited him up to this.
One o'clock.
Emily is strangely reserved to me; she avoids seeing me alone, and
when it happens talks of the weather; papa is however in her
confidence: he is as strong an advocate for this milky baronet as Mrs.
Melmoth.
Ten at night.
All is over, Lucy; that is to say, all is fixed: they are to be
married on Monday next at the Recollects church, and to set off
immediately for Montreal: my father has been telling me the whole plan
of operations: we go up with them, stay a fortnight, then all come
down, and show away till summer, when the happy pair embark in the
first ship for England.
Emily is really what one would call a prudent pretty sort of woman,
I did not think it had been in her: she is certainly right, there is
danger in delay; she has a thousand proverbs on her side; I thought
what all her fine sentiments would come to; she should at least have
waited for mamma's consent; this hurry is not quite consistent with
that extreme delicacy on which she piques herself; it looks exceedingly
as if she was afraid of losing him.
I don't love her half so well as I did three days ago; I hate
discreet young ladies that marry and settle; give me an agreable fellow
and a knapsack.
My poor Rivers! what will become of him when we are gone? he has
neglected every body for us.
As she loves the pleasures of conversation, she will be amazingly
happy in her choice;
"With such a companion to spend the long day!"
He is to be sure a most entertaining creature.
Adieu! I have no patience.
Yours,
A. Fermor.
After all, I am a little droll; I am angry with Emily for concluding
an advantageous match with a man she does not absolutely dislike, which
all good mammas say is sufficient; and this only because it breaks in
on a little circle of friends, in whose society I have been happy. O!
self! self! I would have her hazard losing a fine fortune and a coach
and six, that I may continue my coterie two or three months longer.
Adieu! I will write again as soon as we are married. My next will, I
suppose, be from Montreal. I die to see your brother and my little
Fitzgerald; this man gives me the vapours. Heavens! Lucy, what a
difference there is in men!